Ice-Cream Bucket

9.15 p.m. ,  Malad link road, where the suburban  life has reached a crescendo of  frenzied activity – A thick flux of People, cars pretending that they are patient, young couples oblivious to the chaos, older men shaking their heads and wondering, ”when did this happen?” , dogs adamantly lying exactly where the cars will pass, working moms mentally switching gears to another role balancing vegetables, laptop and life in general, kids playing, and noveaux cyclists most without helmets (so what if it’s hot?) ..enjoying the city , of course not to miss the  willful walkers who are more avoiding walking over or into something than actually moving ahead.

I, well it’s a non working day for me; I was walking back after finishing about half dozen chores.

Intent on getting back home ..dying for a shower.. mentally already feeling dizzy with the heat and the general cacophony..gosh..I need some peace ..Also knowing that is going to be another 4 hours away....

On my way I cross gokul ice cream..and stop.. my son loves Ice cream. So I decide to pick some..My rational mind is screaming for me to just get home..and not do any more detours… But guess the heart is louder..so I buy…Four in the carry pack, after a bit of an argument, which really was my misdirected annoyance.

I leave the shop..with bags(plural, there were 3 in one hand) ..and the ice cream bucket in another, I walk with a determined stride. A few steps and some acceleration later..I almost bump (actually I bumped) into a lady possibly from Bihar ..judging from her well-fed frame ..the saree and the orange sindoor..

From one of the slums surrounding this area, I presume..I am too stunned to react.. but clearly not too stunned to have missed the details....But I am so tired that I don’t even judge. I just wait to move on… (it was really just a few seconds..but when you are waiting to get home..each second is like  a minute..)..But our Bihari lady is not really ready to move on..or move.

She just looks at me and the ice-cream bucket (it’s important that I use this description) and then looks at her bucket, which of course I notice for the first time..No points for guessing where she is headed with the small bucket..My peripheral vision now assisted by my olfactory senses.. and I realize ‘exactly’ where I am..In front  of the common toilet for the slum dwellers..

Our Bihari lady looks at me again …and with free hand on my shoulder in a warm friendly gesture, like we have always gone to the loo together..she starts laughing…a loud ..belly shaking laughter,oblivious to everything and everyone around..My stunned mind.. now alert ..gets her joke..she , had also for a split second ..possibly in her rush to get ‘there’ and back to her brood of 5-6 children..some I may have passed on the street playing .. and connected my Bucket  (ice cream ) to , yes , the loo… Like me , she too then took in the details..and then the humour of it all must have hit her ..and just link that without too much inhibition..she started laughing…

I started laughing with her as well…Then we looked at each other…she hugged me..and we went our ways…

As I was walking towards my building..I was still reeling with what had happened..a complete stranger..no words ..a  deep laugher..a fleeting moment of equality and connectedness …a warm embrace and life went on…

How little it  takes to be present to these moments of magic… to be present to people.. and little “humor moments of life”… how laughter really transcends EVERYTING and connects people..how a little warmth without judgment ..puts a spin to the everyday mundaneness and  chaos that is life, how underneath all the labels and judgments, educational , social background.. economic inequalities.. we really are same…

The irony is not lost to me

The ice-cream in my hand wasn’t the only thing that melted..that evening.

No Compartments

I don't like travelling by trains.
This is a moment to collapse the illusion of Cause  and effect, because my statement has nothing to do with the recent rail saga, sad as it is. It's  just the sheer..every man or woman for himself (or herself) syndrome.

This view of mine was challenegd yesterday, as I tarvelled to cross maidan for the Indo-Greman festival..I think it was the heat..I didn't want to be in traffic for any longer that I had to and hence the train option (yes ,. I agree it is very convinient)

As I sat, nonchalant, with my ear plugs plugged and listening to "O re duniya"..from gulal..Ironic as it was..(well its a song which says what use is this self absorbed world?)
The other reason why I sometimes venture into a train is the sheer joy of browsing through the cheap wares that the women/boys sell..even if I never use those things, that and the fact that it also gives me something to do.

This day, as I sat ..not particulary noticing anything..In, rushed a mother of two..very young childern..who just coudln't keep quiet. That and about 4 bags, each about half the size fo the youngest child.

As she sat, rummmanging throiugh the bags to get something for the kids to eat...In breezed one of my favourite people in the train..a lady selling 'gajaras' - jasmine flowers stringed together meant to adorn your hair (or whatever is left of it)

Our tired; yet enthusiastic mom..somehow manages to surface from amidst the bags and the children..to look up, as the sweet frangrance of the jasmine flowers wafts into  our compartment..and like the sole bright ray of sun peeping from behind a trall concrete building..she beams...( I swear she looked like she would have jumped for joy, had she not had the  bags, the kids and the the learnt ability to act grown up)

The lady selling the gajaras ..catches the beam..these women can read signals , I can tell you that...our sales people should learn a thing or two about prospecting from them;  but that is another subject.

I watch with peaking interest as the transaction happens , complete with bargaining ..and an extra flower thrown in..Our mom..buys 4 gajras (yes..it was a deal after all)..and after the woman selling getsoff ....reality dawns..and the fisrt sign of realization starts showing on our moms face..What is she going to DO with the gajras..because she does not have the ONE thing that is required to wear it...yes a  Bob-pin ( I know we have almost forgotten words like these - but the trains  are a good reminder).

Disappointed and dejected..the sun again gone behind the concrete...   just as she was about to brutally shove the deliacte flowers wrapped in green leaf...something amazing happened !!!
another lady , possibly a regular working woman..from diagonally opposite side , happend to see  all this and did something that took me and our mom by surprise ...

She got up and walked to our side and just took out  a 'bob-pin' which she was wearing..and handed over to our mom with a smile... gave it without too much explanation or talk and walked back..quitely to her seat...barely acknowledging the confused..grateful thankyou smile...of the estatic recipient.

Our mom, took the pin put the gajaras , all four, in her hair and the sun and the smile - was back on....
and so was the overall spirit in the compartment on this hot sultry day..I looked up at the faces of other women ..most of them had a faint...almost knowing smile... each possibly  rembering a random act of kindness..or thinking of oppurtunities of doing one....

I went back to the fragility of my judgements..and deep sense of satisfcation..that despite evreything that the newspapers say is happening wrong with the world...Humaninty exixts..in these small pockets...of a  train without compartments.

The heat and train somehow bother me less.

All is well with the world.

Before Memory Fades

Before the memory fades
Let me remember

The moments where
I was the prayer
I was the answer

My tree swing
My bed on the loft.
….Of my grandma's house

My solitary moments
When I found faith

My feeling of abundance
When I found 4 popsicles
Where I expected one

My joy and glee
When my red gumboots filled with rain water
And made a funny noise when I walked

My times of confusion
When my struggle for clarity
Made a thinker out of me

My goose bumps on the cold mornings
When I was a humble witness to
the new proud bud blooming

My unforgiving moments
When hurt hurt more
and Ask for forgiveness

My primitive judgements
and humbly Forgive

My feeling of security
When my mom went about her chores
Humming and talking

My wonder , echo and Silence
When I helped my gran clean the church
For the next days Sunday Mass.

My deep gratitude
For all the people who loved me as I was.
For all these little moments of magic
For all the struggles and strife's
For all the tears and tests
For all the celebrations
For Me.

Let me remember
Before my memory fades…..

The Lone Sweeper

 

It’s 3 am
The street empty
Shutters down
The Market
Sleeps.
It’s a small town.

The roads they
Turn in their beds
Sometimes groan..
Shuu…it’s a dream

And there I see the lone
Guy with his long broom
Quietly silently
Cleaning the Market
Of it’s day long
Debris

Of Pretenses fallen.
Of Joys wrapped;
in ice cream wrappers.
Of worries people brought here
And left – Refreshed.
To start living again – Hopefully.

And he whistled softly as he swept
No one in the daylight will stop to wonder
Where , all the rubbish went
No one will know his name
No one will recognize him in daylight.


And he is happy with that
Just doing what he is meant to do
Oblivious to – The philosophies of life
And just content living it.

The rhythmic sound of his broom stops just a bit
And I am pulled out of my revere
I look up …
Oh!! A piece of chocolate wrapper stuck under the wheel .

The humming and sweeping begin once again
My heart jumps up and applauds loudly …
Giving him a standing ovation.
And I go back – to another clean day.

Peaceful Warrior

 

The story of a Man, who was made a Villain by a Single Story.

Pre Amble:
The danger of a single story exists. It is dangerous because it has power. Power to influence – Perceptions – Beliefs – Behavior and even Faith. Influence to cast the wronged person as the wrong person.

Background:
Ravan, the Man, was a devout disciple of Lord Shiva, an avid Learner, a Musician and an accomplished warrior. When he played the veena..the birds joined in chorus

Ravana, the King, was an admired king. Who understood. Listened and cared for his people and respected their dignity. The well being of his subjects was the subject of most of his silent contemplations, which he got into many times

There was abundance and joy all around and the people rejoiced in the peace and safety that was their king’s top priority.

The Episode:

The huge garden, behind the king Palace… was lush and peaceful. Froth with the gentle evening breeze. The deep green grass…taking on a warm tone..glistened in the rays of the setting sun… The huge trees surrounding the garden..bore witness to the solitude..swayed gently..rocking the many young birds nesting in their arms…allowing the stray rays of the sun to paly peek-a-boo with them.

The air, filled with the sweet fragrance of multitude flowers and humming of grasshoppers… and the cacophony of birds returning happily to their homes. Punctuated by an occasional chime of the far away temple bells…and the steady deep rhythm of Ravan chanting…”Om Namah Shiva”… “Om Namaha Shiva”

Ravan, Sitting in deep meditation, under his favorite Banyan tree, oblivious to the yellow butterfly flitting gently on his shoulder.

Suddenly, the tranquility is pierced..mercilessly …by the soul shattering ..shrill scream of Suparnakha, Ravana’s baby sister…

Brutally pulled out of his reverie, Ravana is stunned …as he watches his sister soaked in her blood..covering her face and screaming his name…”dada” (Big Brother)…running towards him…

After what seems like and eternity..she comes and collapses in her brother’s arms..and wails. The wails that would wake the dead. Her Hot tears mixed with her cold blood are all over Ravana, and the once pristine white dhoti , that Ravan Always wore..is now screaming red.

Amidst the sobs..Ravans manages to pull away the hands that are still covering his sisters face…a face that he knows so well…he is the reason for so many of it’s laughter lines…reluctantly as Suparnakha..lets her face be seen… Ravana inspite of himself recoils at the sight… His sisters nose, ears and breasts have been chopped off..and the anger now mixed with disbelief and pain..washes over him ..and he wails and takes his sister in his large arms…and cries with her., gently rocking her back and forth….the shame..the humiliation..the pain…is all the world has come to , at that moment…

Getting his bearing …when Ravana manages to ask her the Silent question..”Who did this and Why?”… Suparnakha…now also fearful..of the consequence…manages to tell him, it was Laxmana who did it, on the orders, of Rama, to whom..Suparnakha has confessed her foolish love.

Hurt..and disbelief...standing still!!

Ravana..shaking with rage ..hurt and justified revenge…Gets up with a roar…after asking the palace maid to take Suparnakha away ..he is finally able to find his voice…

The dilemma that faces him is huge.. Should he just go ahead and kill Laxmana and Sita with the same, or maybe more brutality…so that Ram knows the pain??..should he wage a war on Ayodhya??..and them know that he is not a people who will take injustices lying down..What should he do??? …This is not just a humiliation of his sister ..but also an insult to his people…what is he do as a Brother..what is he to do as a king???..yes an eye for an eye…ear for an ear.. that is justice!!!

But….

What will it result into??.... More Blood…more innocent people dying..more families ..brothers..sister ..crying for their loved one..just like he was crying for his sister…No This will lead to an avalanche of revenges..and the streets and history of Lanka..and Ayodhya will be smeared by blood forever…… More Blood cannot be the answer….
There are already many people fighting and dying in battles that are not theirs ..all over the world…..Revenge cannot bring peace….for anyone… ever.

War does not discriminate. Nobody wins in a war.

So..then should he just sit here and do nothing??What kind of a brother will he be.. What kind of a king??? No he can’t do Nothing….
He can almost hear the echoes of his people asking for Justice…Justice…Justice….

The Mighty Ravana…is Silent…in his quiet moment of seeking divine wisdom.. listening to his inner voice…..

After what seems like an Eternity....

He looks up. His mind is made up..his heart quietened..his eye steady once again….

He realizes, Ram has to repent his wrongdoing..so that forgiveness can happen…so that healing can happen..so that Justice is served…so that peace prevails..
The answer…Sita.

(Ravan..came up with this though..knowing fully well that he himself cannot ever touch sita, and for all the duration that she was in his captivity..she was given a royal treatment..and Ravan made sure that Sita purity was not even touched by his shadow.
He treated her as any lady should be treated..with respect.)